The K Project
by miyame-chan
Summary: Tired of being known as the know-it all jock, Kristen Gregory decides to take up the advantage of being the new girl in Octavian Country Day to be known as something... more. See her run, trip, and scheme her way into the good—the better—side of OCD. This is The K Project.
1. Kristen Gregory

Kristen Gregory

_"You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time." -Abraham Lincoln_

It's never that easy being the new girl. Sure, there will be some cases in which the girl has it all, making her instantly in with the crowd… And Kristen Gregory is someone like that.

Okay. _Close_ to being someone like that. She's already got the three deadly Bs down: brains, beauty, and brawn. She's only got two problems.

One: She'll be transferring to Octavian Country Day—where the halls are the runways, where _who _were you wearing was just as important as _what_ you were wearing, where there's nothing hip about scholarships. In short, Kristen Gregory is poor. Unfortunately for her, not everyone is. And if some _are_ poor, then chances are they'll be richer than her.

And two is… Well, you'll have to figure that out on your own.

**WHAT'S HOT AND WHAT'S NOT? (A QUIZ-LIST BY KRISTEN GREGORY)**

A. Poor Friend

B. PR Friend

C. Octavian Country Day

D. Karter Middle School

E. Fitting in

F. Standing out

G. The K Project

H. Project Runway

Kristen may think she knows the answers, but really, it's still too early to tell. She may be smart, but just because someone is, it doesn't mean she knows everything.

And she's about to find out the hard way.


	2. Kitten

2nd chapter- enjoy!

Important notice: TIMELINE CHANGE! Claire arrived in Westchester sometime during grade six. And Kristen moved to The Pinewoods a few months after grade seven started (when the story will be starting). In case it wasn't obvious, this would be an AU fanfic. I'll try my best to add the big things that happened in the books, though.

Thanks to **hawtjuicyaddict **and** gravity5 **for reviewing. Stay loving and keep on reading!

Thanks for the Alerts. :3

Sadly, I do not own The Clique but I do own my OCs. :):

* * *

Kitten

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" My mom, Marsha Gregory, exclaimed as she looked around my new bedroom proudly.

"Must be opposite day today," I mumbled under my breath.

Upon hearing me, Mom patted my blonde head comfortingly. "It isn't that bad, honey. We'll get through this. I promise." And with that, she left me alone to go yell-instruct the movers to where exactly they should put the shelves in our living room.

With a sigh, I flopped down to my blue and green polka-dot duvet and looked around; trying to imagine the new friends I would make hanging out in my new room. That is, if they would even willingly hang out in The Pinewoods.

My apartment isn't exactly that bad—if only we weren't in this part of Westchester. As in the rich and privileged and glamorous part of Westchester.

But maybe I was just overreacting. Maybe I was just anxious. Maybe this was part of the New Girl Syndrome. After all, being the new girl starting in a new school in the middle of the year is hardly easy. Sure, there'll be those cases in which the rich, popular pretty girl transfers and instantly wows the student body. And I'm someone like that. I think.

I've always believed that I already have the three Bs. Namely, beauty, brains, and brawn. My only problems are being rich and popular.

Living in The Pinewoods and attaining a scholarship to Octavian Country Day are proof enough of having money issues.

In my old school, Karter Middle School, I wasn't exactly popular but I wasn't a wannabe either. On the soccer field (or any sports field for that matter), I was the star. And when I walked down the hallways, I was a respected student. But I've realized how much my life is pretty much consumed by sports and studying. I have friends, sure, but mom would only let me "socialize" with them if I study. Or play sports. It was like Planet Loser at its finest.

I warily picked up the OCD handbook which sat on top of my bedside table along with my lime green lamp. I browsed through the pages, becoming more and more nervous for Monday.

_"Clothing is a form of self-expression. We encourage—" _

I quickly shut the handbook. In Karter's handbook, it never mentioned anything about clothes being a form of self expression. Nor did it encourage the students to actually come in good, reliable designer wear. Were they serious?

I closed my almond-shaped aqua eyes tight, trying to imagine what my classmates would say upon seeing the dowdy non-designer clothes Mom forces me to wear. They would probably think I was trying to express to them that I was just another scholarship girl with no real taste in clothes.

We'll see about that.

I stood up and shuffled over to one of the boxes placed in my lime-colored room. I opened it and started taking out the clothing items in it.

Shirts, pants, shorts, maxi skirts, and other unacceptable clothes from Marshall and last year's Juicy Couture spring collection came out. Only a few were decent… but not for the first day of school.

Hmm. Today was a Friday, which meant I only had less than three days to prepare myself for Monday. And I should start by buying acceptable stuff. Just as I was figuring the perfect excuse to head over to Saks, David Beckham sauntered in.

No, it wasn't that amazing soccer player from England. I wish. It was just my fluffy white Persian cat.

"What's up Beckham?" I mumbled absentmindedly. Beckham replied by rubbing his white head against my toned and tanned calves. I picked him up and sat down on the blue shag area rug, stroking his coconut-scented fur. "How's it going so far?"

_"Meooww,"_ he purred, looking as if he was asking the same question.

"I know," I agreed. "This… sucks. Why The Pinewoods of all places? I mean, the place is nice and cozy and all, but seriously? If mom says this is gonna be okay, then why would she let us stay in an unglamorous apartment in the middle of glamorous Westchester? Our old house in the other side of town was perfectly fine. And so was my old school. She didn't need to transfer me to OCD in the middle of the year because of dad's new job! Couldn't she have just waited till next year? Or better yet, NEVER!"

Beckham started hissing, and thinking he was encouraging me to go on, I started rambling longer. I poured my doubts about everything. How I was feeling really nervous, how I'm scared that my old friends might forget me and move on, how people my find out about my scholarship and think I wasn't good enough... But when he started to scratch my hands, only then did I realize he was trying to stop me from squeezing him to death.

"Oops," I breathed, releasing him from my deadly grasp. I watched him run out of my room, possibly to annoy the movers. Beckham always did that whenever strangers were in the house and he wanted them to leave. And that tactic worked. Sometimes, anyways.

I stood up once more and followed my cat, ready to pester my mom—something I always did whenever I wanted something badly.

And what I wanted right now was to escape Planet Loser.


	3. Saks

3rd chapter- enjoy!

Thank you so very much to **hawtjuicyaddict, Amazing Fish **(Guest)**, Dancing Fish **(Guest)**, and XDReadingPersonXD** for the reviews. I'm just curious, but to my two Guest reviewers, are you the same person or related or just have practically the same pen names? Anyways, stay loving and keep on reading!

Thanks also for the Favorites and Alerts. :3

Sadly, I don't own the Clique but I do own my OCs. :):

* * *

Saks

"Mom," I called out, "I'm ready to go!"

I wandered into our kitchen, where my parents were currently staying. Actually, our kitchen looked more like a storage warehouse rather than a place for peaceful eating, with boxed items stacked around the place.

I sidestepped around a big box, but bumped my hip hard into a smaller box that had the words **"FRAGILE. KEEP SAFE."** stamped at its sides. _Oops. _Hopefully, those weren't the angel figurines that Grandpa Roderick gave to us—Mom is quite protective of the angels, and dad just doesn't like seeing her angry. (But then again, who doesn't?)

"Ugh," I complained, rubbing the sore side of my hip. "Daaad, when will this apartment look like an actual apartment?" I approached my dad, whose nose was practically touching the International News section of the newspaper.

"Relax, sweetie," Dad said as he looked up at me, his mouth parting into a smile. "We've just been here for two days, you have to be patient."

_Coming from the guy who couldn't wait to move us into this place._

"Okay, whatever," I grumbled. "Can't we just go now?"

"Don't ask me that, ask your mother. I think she's still in the..."

"Ready!" In a whirlwind of sweet-smelling powder, Mom was suddenly beside me. "But you are certainly not."

"What?" I demanded. Did she think I forgot to brush my teeth again? Because I so totally did not!

She tsk-ed in disapproval. "Didn't I tell you to wear leggings under your skirt?"

I frowned at her. Yesterday, after hours of pestering Mom, she finally gave in. But to be honest, it was actually Dad who gave in, and Mom just followed suit moments later because she was afraid I might start screaming and shouting like a three-year-old and disturb that cranky old lady from the floor below us. But I also had to agree on two things: one, she would only give me a hundred dollars to spend (ugh). Two, I would wear something to Saks that she actually approved of. Why else would I be wearing a purple sleeveless shirt and a yellow a-line skirt paired up with my Nine West flats?

True, Mom asked me to wear some leggings too, but the skirt wasn't even that short to be considered a mini! And besides, my outfit was already ugly enough as it is. When separated, the shirt and the skirt looked cute, but when put in the same ensemble, it would make the fashion police arrest me.

"But Mom!" I whined. "This outfit is already okay!"

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a hard look. "Yes, it'll definitely be okay... Okay for the perverts who wants to see your—"

"Marsha, I think she looks great," Dad interrupted. I gave him a smile and he winked back at me.

"Jackson," Mom sighed, "do you even know how boys act today?"

"She looks fine to me." Dad shrugged. There were times when I hated my dad and there were times I didn't. And now was a time when I didn't.

"Yes, but—"

"Look, Mom, I know that you're looking out for me, but the skirt isn't even that short so if I wear the leggings, I'll look weird."

"Better weird than sorry, right?"

I was about to snap back something along the lines of "Why? What would the pervs gain anyway?!" but I bit back my lip. I didn't want us to argue over something so petty, and I decided my response sounded wrong.

"Kristen, we talked about this yesterday and you promised that—"

"Fine." I cut her off. I didn't want to waste my time arguing over this so I just trudged back into my room and slammed the door close.

With a huff, I walked over to my full-length mirror. If they looked at my physical appearance first, "poor scholarship girl" wouldn't top the list. With my long dirty blonde hair that framed my pretty face and protected the smart brain underneath it, almond shaped eyes in the color of striking aqua, and creamy pale skin I looked more like the typical dumb blonde. I have great fashion sense, I'm sure of that, it was just I was working with the wrong clothes. _Why did Dad have to lose his job?_ Shaking the insecurities out of my head, I turned my attention back to my clothes.

Most of my stuff—including my clothes—I already unpacked the day before to make the room feel more comfortable and less claustrophobic-like. While some clothes are still kept away in boxes, I knew that I the better options were hanging in my cream-colored closet. I walked towards the closet and threw its doors open, stepping back as I tried to think of an outfit Mom would approve, yet something I would actually like.

I flipped through the hangers until I found my favorite Gap cotton sweater. Its sleeves were chocolate brown, while the rest was in a lighter brown color with a black and tan sash in the middle with the ends going down diagonally. Then, I took out a pair of pre-ripped shorts from the folded pile and after much thought, I pulled out some black stockings from my messy socks pile. (Note to self, fix that pile when I come back.) I peeled off my current outfit and replaced it with the new one. This time, I approached the mirror with a smile on my face, knowing that I looked good.

The sweater went well with the shorts and the stockings I wore underneath didn't come off as slutty, just as I hoped. I wasn't exactly a big fan of the stockings/leggings and shorts trend, but under the circumstances, I had to pick stockings. Leggings plus shorts equals elementary school.

Now only a few things left to do... I swept my hair into a low ponytail and placed a stylish grey cap on top off my head. I also pulled on my suede slouch boots and patted the pocket of my shorts, making sure that my (unfortunately) rip-off Gucci was in it. After all, I couldn't just purchase something from Saks with only a hundred in my hands. Deciding that I already had the classy and sexy, yet somehow mom-approved look down, I rolled my shoulders, did an about face and left the room like a confident _American Idol_ contestant.

It was time for the judge to decide.

"Is this okay _now_?" As soon as the sarcastic words rolled out of my tongue, I found myself wishing I hadn't. My mom could detect sarcasm the way wolves could sense fear. And the results weren't always so favorable.

But if she did notice, she didn't say a thing about it. In fact, she didn't even bother to check my outfit. She just looked... tired. She ran a hand through her limp brown bob and said, "Okay, we can go now."

oo00oo

As the cold air greeted my mom and I, I found myself thanking her for forcing me to change my clothes. It was so chilly in the Westchester Mall I thought I'd get a frost bite.

"Quite cold in here, no?" Mom asked as if reading my mind. She eyed my pre-ripped shorts warily, but I shrugged it off. We were in the mall now, so what could she do?

"Mm, kinda," I lied, trying my best not to shiver in my stockings.

"Well, at least you're pretty warm in that sweater of yours,"

"Um... kinda," Hey, at least I was being half honest, right?

"Okay, I guess you're ready to head over to, um, Saks, is it?" Mom asked, finally giving up with whatever she was trying to accomplish.

"Yep."

She looked a little doubtful, but nodded her head anyways. "So we just meet at maybe five-thirty then we look for snacks?"

"Okay..." I replied, a little unsure. An hour and thirty minutes felt like a short time to shop.

"Do you have the money with you?"

I nodded and smile-patted the pocket that carried my wallet.

"Phone? So that I can call you?"

"It's all here," I rolled my eyes. Gosh, did she have to be so cautious?

"Alright, then," she leaned in and kissed me on my head, making me squirm slightly. "Have fun!"

"Bye, see you later!" I took off like a Saks-finding missile. Being a big mall, I had a hard time finding the store, and when I did, I was tired from walking around and in need of Gatorade. Funny how I was more tired from shopping than from playing soccer.

I immediately entered the pristine store, wasting no time to scrounge up for an outfit. Just as I passed by a display case full of expensive designer perfume, a saleslady suddenly approached me, a smile on her face and Dot by Marc Jacobs on her bony hand. Before I had a chance to react, she suddenly sprayed me with the perfume.

"Ugh! Do you really think I would by the product if you keep insisting on it in an extremely annoying manner?" The lady took a step back in surprise, and I gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Just having a bad day." I left hurriedly, leaving a faint trail of jasmine, coconut water, and orange blossom in my wake.

I stopped in front of a mannequin modeling a yellow sleeveless blouse with ruffles in the middle. My hand brushed against it, feeling the silky material. Hoping that they have it in my size, I fingered the price tag and practically fainted when I saw how much it costs. A hundred definitely won't cover the amount, and the extra seventy-five dollars I brought along didn't help either. Dang.

Sighing, I walked away from the mannequin. Even if I did have $395 in my wallet, Mom would order me to return it upon seeing how low the neckline is. I glanced down at my Coach Boyfriend Rubber Strap watch in rose gold and heaved another sigh. It took me more than ten minutes to arrive in Saks, and now I was just walking around the store, wasting the remaining time left. I was too busy cursing my mother that I didn't notice where I was walking. As a result, I bumped straight into a girl who was running like someone was after her.

"Ouch!" She screeched. I was able to steady my balance when I crashed into her, but the girl immediately fell on her butt.

"Omigosh! Are you okay? I am so sorry."

The girl looked up. Despite the fact that I just made her fall on her butt, she looked okay. She gave a crooked smile, her narrow green eyes glinting with mischievousness. "Ah, don't worry about that." She extended her arm and I pulled her up. "At least that gives me an excuse to actually tell my brother to hurry up and leave. I'm Layne Abeley, by the way." Layne raised her arm for a high five.

"Uh... Kristen," I reluctantly slapped her raised palm.

"Just Kristen?" Layne raised her bushy eyebrows. "Can't you give your surname? What if I send you a friend request in Facebook and I just type in 'Kristen'? There are a lot of Kristens in this world, y'know."

"I know, but... Wait, why are you gonna send me a friend request?"

"Just giving you a situation," Layne replied. "C'mon, it's not like I'm gonna stalk you or anything. Don't you think it's improper I gave you my surname but you didn't?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's... Gregory. Kristen Gregory."

"Cool, Gre-go-ry!" Layne giggled in amusement. "Okay, so, you new here or something? I don't think I've met you."

I was hesitant to reply, "Yeah, I am. I'll be attending Octavian Country Day on Monday."

"Oooh, really?" Layne exclaimed gleefully. "I go there too! Congrats, looks like you made your first friend from OCD!"

I eyed the girl curiously. Her mousy brown hair reminded me of Mom's, only longer. She had braided it using a zebra-print scarf as the hair elastic. But what was really different is the girl's outfit. She was wearing a pink and navy blue polo underneath a black motorcycle jacket and light wash denim pants skimmed her knees, making it obvious she owned them for years. Her boots seemed like normal rain boots, but if you check the see-through soles, you'd be able to see water inside it, complete with tiny fake sea horses and fishes swimming inside.

Well. She'll certainly be a one-of-a-kind friend.

"I got them from eBay," Layne said when she saw me eyeing her rain boots. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess," I cleared my throat. "Sorry but I gotta go, I only have a short time to shop and—"

"I can help you with that!" Layne volunteered. I raised an eyebrow at her. She didn't seem like the type to splurge on designer clothing. "I mean, I don't buy stuff from here, but I come here sometimes so I know my way around." She started to walk away, heading for a shelf that showed off a stack of preppy dresses.

"If you don't shop here frequently, why do you come here?" I asked, hurrying to catch up to her.

Layne stopped walking and turned around to give me a look. "I have a friend who... Well, let's just say she's different. Shops at Target, but loves those pink boots from Uggs. Besides, tomorrow's the birthday of my brother's girlfriend, and he has no clue what to give her so he forced me to tag along with him. Normally, I love picking out presents, but here at Saks? Sorry, but snobby mannequins wearing four-inch heels and tight dresses aren't my thing." Layne nodded at one of the dresses. "What do you think of Ralph Lauren?"

"It's the epitome of chic and preppy," a snide voice from behind us said. "But I've always thought you go for the more... different styles, to put it in a nice way."

Layne and I both turned around, and saw a beautiful Latina girl standing with her tan arms crossed over her ample breasts. Her big brown eyes radiated innocence, but the smirk playing on her glossy lips said she wasn't sorry at all for what she said.

"Huh," Layne mumbled, looking a little thoughtful. "I never knew that the words that come out of your big mouth are usually 'put in a nice way.'"

Ignoring the comment, the Latina focused her attention on me. Or to be more specific, my legs. "It's been quite a while since I saw someone wear shorts over stockings." I felt myself go rigid. Was that a compliment or an insult? _Obviously an insult, _I thought.

"As if you didn't come to school like that last year, Alicia," Layne snorted.

"I was tricked!" The girl, Alicia, insisted. Her cheeks were slowly becoming red. "You're only one of the few people who'll actually come to sch—"

"Hey, who knows," I interrupted, "maybe I'll be restarting the trend." I bit the inside of my mouth, wondering why I had to speak up. I could be stupid sometimes.

"Maybe..." Alicia said uncertainly. Then, she sauntered over to the shelf and took out a midnight blue number. "I'm not sure if this'll look good on you, but it will to me!" She glanced at me briefly before looking down at the dress. "After all, Ralph is my signature look—anything he makes, I'll look pretty in them." I had to agree with that. From head to toe, she looked like a preppy model for the brand.

"Who cares?" Layne grumbled. "No one wanted to talk to you in the first place."

Alicia glared at her. "Jealous much, _Layme_?" I had to cover my mouth to muffle my giggles. With the final word being said, Alicia walked away muttering how she needed to find Massie and the others.

I looked at her (slowly) retreating figure. Minus the cocky personality, she seemed like a fun person to hang out with. I wonder if she goes to OCD.

"If Alicia's here with the PC, I wonder if Claire is too," Layne muttered to herself, perking up a bit.

"Oh, and uh, Layne?" Alicia called out without looking back. "Your boots are leaking."

The two of us looked down and true enough, a small puddle was beginning to form under her left boot. "Shoot!" Layne dropped to one knee and untangled the scarf from her braid, trying to soak the puddle with it. "This sucks!"

I just watched in awe and embarrassment as Layne continued to soak and curse. I could feel the eyes of the passing customers on the both of us. "You know, I think it would be easier for you to clean that up if you remove the boot?" I suggested.

Layne obligingly did as what I told, then looked up at me with an accusing glare. "Thanks for the tip, but maybe you could help out by looking for a tissue?"

I hesitantly nodded my head and took a few steps back, turned and then ran like my life depended on it.

Like my _social_ life depended on it.

* * *

So there you go! Kristen has met the first two people from OCD! Any predictions for the next chapter? Hint: it's Kristen's first day in OCD. Oh, and before I forget, Claire is already part of the PC (as somehow mentioned by Layne). Put it all in the reviews. :)


	4. Kick-start

4th chapter- enjoy!

Thanks to **XDReadingPersonXD, hawtjuicyaddict, Amazing Fish **(Guest)**, inspiring. people. to. love, and xxDazzled11xx** for reviewing. Stay loving and keep on reading!

Thanks also for the Favorites and Alerts! :3

* * *

Kick-start

"Morning, Kristen!" Dad greeted me, raising his steaming mug of something. For someone who just had to get yet another job, he seemed pretty happy.

"Good morning, Dad," I replied, rolling my eyes. I smoothed down my fur-trimmed coat, making sure that all the buttons had been snapped on.

"You cold, darling?"

"N... Yeah," I did my best to shiver. "It's kind of windy outside..." I looked out the window, and to my relief, nature was on my side today: I could see the dried leaves swirling in the air, then landing softly on the cluttered pavement, only to be picked up by the wind again.

Dad nodded. "Why don't you make hot chocolate? I think Marsha bought some Swiss Miss from her recent grocery trip and they looked pretty yummy especially that caramel one." He paused to take a sip from his mug and let out a satisfied "Ahh!" before continuing. "Might give you some of the energy you need for today."

"I'm fine," I replied, taking a seat from across him. _And it's not like I'm really cold._ I added mentally. If Mom saw what I was wearing right now, I'd be a double dead meat. I couldn't find my favorite varsity jacket or oversized sweater, so the coat I was wearing was currently the only acceptable thing I have to cover my outfit today. At first I thought it was long enough, but now under the curious gaze of my dad, the coat felt too long.

"You sure about that?" Dad asked.

"Yeah, thanks though,"

He merely shrugged then went back to reading the black and white print in front of him. "You might want to start your breakfast right now," he said moments later.

"Marsha's still in the bathroom. Wouldn't want to be late for your first day, right?"

I pushed back my chair and slowly stood up. "What's she doing there at this time?" I asked as I made my way to the fridge. Should I make an omelet or just toast bread? I asked myself as I opened the fridge's door. "I thought she's going to Mercy Me later this afternoon? And did you unpack our toaster already?"

"Yes and no," Dad grinned sheepishly, peering at me over the top of his newspaper. "She's having some, uh, digestive problems and I'll probably look for the toaster later. Or tomorrow. Why not make some omelet instead? And while you're at it, I'd like a sunny side-up, please. Thanks!"

"Just what I was thinking," I grumbled, taking two eggs from the egg container.

Minutes later, just as I was setting my plate of omelet and I Can't Believe It's Not Buttered bread in front of my seat, Mom came in patting her stomach with a relieved smile on her face as if she was done enduring hours of labor.

"Hey, Mom," I said, taking a bite out of the omelet and savoring the taste of the cheese I decided to grate.

"Good morning, honey," she replied, approaching the kitchen counter. She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the head. "Are you excited for school?"

"Kinda," I replied through a mouthful of omelet, chasing it with a glass of Florida's Natural orange juice. "How's your digestive system?" I added with a smirk.

Mom frowned for a moment before responding. "It feels much better now. But next time, remind me not to eat that egg sandwich from Starbucks; Subway would've been better. If they had a Subway, that is..."

"Noted." I glanced down at the remaining portion of omelet just waiting to be picked up from the simple China plate and snickered.

"Oh, and I'm not sure if it's pre-first day nerves that's making you stare at your omelet and snicker like you've got nothing better to do"—Mom cringed slightly as if saying the word "omelet" would send her another trip to Toilet Town—"but you've only got ten more minutes before the bus pulls up and I'm not driving you."

I held up my watch close to my face and squinted at gold and white clock face. Being late for the first day of school? Definitely not an option! And that was what all I needed to cram in my omelet and bread into my mouth as I gulped down my orange juice, leaving me with an odd medley of cheddar, substitute butter, and pulp.

I quickly jumped out from my seat and headed for my bedroom, slamming the door open that it startled Beckham. "So sorry!" I slurred.

After brushing my teeth, I sprayed a generous amount of Clinique Happy onto my pressure points, enjoying the vibrant yet soft notes of my favorite scent. I stepped out from my bathroom, and in one quick movement, I swiped my Sugar Spice Lip Smacker from my light green study table and applied it to my lips. After stuffing it in my coat's pocket and grabbing my Prada bag from the floor, I headed out of my room in a hurry.

"ByeMombyeDadbyeBeckham!" I exclaimed. Seven minutes left! Just as I was about to leave the small apartment, someone tugged my arm and pulled me into a hug.

"Good luck, sweetie," Mom whispered. Despite the fact the bus would arrive in less than seven minutes, I couldn't help but smile. "Sorry we can't send you off to the new school properly, especially since we know how nervous you are of starting in a school like OCD. But we know our smart girl can handle it."

I pulled away and repeated in a slower, softer manner, "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. See you later!" And with that, I walked out but not before hearing them say, "We're so proud of you!" and moments later, "Have fun!"

oo00oo

As soon as I heard the tires crunching on the gravel, my brisk walk transitioned into a jog. Several seconds later, I reached the curb and leaned against the bust stop sign with my arms crossed as if I've been there for more than an hour. To someone who wasn't looking closely, it was like I was trying to look cool when in reality, I was starting to get cold due to the blowing winds.

Finally, the big yellow bus pulled up in front me, its tinted doors opening with a slight hiss. A khaki shorts and polo-wearing, woman stepped down and consulted her clipboard then she aimed her narrowed cerulean eyes at me. "Kristen Gregory?" I nodded my head. Her gaze moved down to my coat, then, "You cold?" I nodded again. "Welcome to Westchester. Climb aboard!" I did what I was told and immediately scurried to find a seat before the bus started to move again, since I didn't want to suddenly fall flat on my face like in those movies.

I settled onto the first cushion-y seat that was available—at the right side near the back. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass window, watching as everything turned into a blur as the bus started to move with only my thoughts proving to be the only things clear. What if they don't like me? What if I don't like them? What if I lose my scholarship? The last thought had me shuddering as if the cold wind somehow managed to enter the heated bus. No, that won't and can't happen—I'll be making sure of that. Not only for my sake, but for my parents' sake too. And it wasn't as if I would be doing anything that'll expel me.

It seemed like only minutes had passed when the bus finally reached OCD. I've been there on tour, of course. But now, it seemed bigger and more intimidating with the perfectly groomed students milling about on the manicured lawn, or as what Principal Burns likes to call it, "The Great Lawn."

Ignoring the bats swooping in my stomach, I rolled my shoulders and fell into step with students entering the Hogwarts-esque building. This is it, I thought, pursing my suddenly dry lips. I was kind of scared, but excited too.

I slowly walked down the hallway, the mix of sweet perfume and fruity hair products ambushing me, replacing the fresh air that I was breathing in just moments ago. As expected, most of my new schoolmates treated me like I've been there for the rest of my middle school life while a few were shooting me wondering stares that I chose to ignore. I unbuttoned the remaining buttons of my coat, carefully sliding it down to my arms so that it would showcase my white tie front sleeveless shirt and mustard yellow short shorts that I paired up with brown oxfords. So maybe my outfit wasn't the best new school look or something that I bought from the Saks trip (what I really bought were black silk gloves and this hat that Layne somehow convinced me to buy), but I decided last night that I'd start off slowly before my schoolmates get slapped in the face with my brains, brawn, and most importantly, beauty. And maybe I was exaggerating when I said I'd be double dead meat when Mom sees my clothes, but any piece of clothing that showed too much, I'd be dead meat. Maybe not double dead, but still dead.

"So where do I go now...?" I asked myself, fishing out the schedule the beady-eyed principal gave me during my last visit. "A visit with the Head Bird, huh?"

"Hey, can I ask you something?" I called out, mustering the courage to tap a girl with blonde ringlets who happened to pass my way. She turned around, responding by widening her bright blue eyes. "Um, do you know... where the principal's office is?" I asked nervously. "I'm new here, and uh, it's not exactly me to forget stuff but I guess—"

"Yeah, I know where it is!" The girl replied brightly.

"Cool," I grinned back. "So can you... Uh, where are you going?" I watched in confusion as the blonde suddenly walked away, leaving me with no idea how to get to the Principal's office.

* * *

Sorry for the long-awaited update! I'm pretty much busy with school, and I had to still think whether or not I should just cut this chapter short. In the end, I did because I thought it would be like, long and too much stuff might be happening in just one chapter. So expect the continuation of this either this week or next week! (Now that's where the exciting stuff happens. Maybe not exciting, but you know what I mean! So all your Claire Treatment or Nice Treatment will have to wait.)


	5. Ketchup

5th chapter- enjoy!

So here's the continuation of the previous chapter that I promised to all of you. :)

_Danke_ very much to **hawtjuicyaddict and XDReadingPersonXD **for reviewing. Stay loving and keep on reading!

Tnx for the Favorites and Alerts! :3

* * *

Ketchup

Everyone's eyes were on me as I made my way to the center of the room, grabbing the seat next to a girl so pale, she could've been Snow White's sister. But I paid them no attention—everyone, except for a brunette in the row ahead of me.

When I walked in Ms. Dare's Math class and introduced myself, she was one of the few people who pretty much ignored me—a welcoming change from the stares I received in the past two periods. She simply gave me a once over with those glittering amber eyes of hers, then went back to reading something from under her desk. And not only that, there was something about her that made me want to look more. With the way she dressed—a baby pink ruffled top peeking out from a red leather jacket paired up with dark jeans tucked into a pair of maroon boots with a curved toe that gave a touch of equestrian to the otherwise chic ensemble—and the way confidence exuded from her barely-there pores, I was sure she one of the girls that ran the social scene in OCD. And maybe even in Westchester.

"Alright, class," Ms. Dare announced just as I dropped my messenger bag to the spot next to my seat, "as you all know, we will be having a little quiz tomorrow—" She was cut off by groans, but were immediately silenced with a raise of her palm. "—on the four operations of positive and negative integers. For preparation, I will be giving exercises. Not that the quiz will be hard for all of you... if you study, that is. Oh, and Miss...?"

Knowing it was me she was looking for, I looked at her with widened eyes. "Yes?" I asked as politely as I could. After all, she forgot my name even if it was only five minutes of post-introduction!

"Do you think you will be ready for tomorrow?"

"Of course," I replied, a hint of confidence in my voice. Positive and negative integers? Ask me something I don't know!

She nodded in satisfaction, and then instructed us to write to answer the questions in our notebooks. Just then, the classroom door burst open, and a girl strode in, swinging her red satchel happily as if she wasn't late for class.

"Ah, Ms. Snapps, good to see you in such a lovely mood." Our teacher narrowed her hazel eyes at the newcomer, who just smiled in return.

"Doctor's appointment," she said, almost in a singsong manner. But she didn't seem to be the happy-go-lucky type to me... she looked like one of those girls who just _love _to push people's buttons. Without waiting for a response, she headed for her seat. Unfortunately, she chose to pass by my desk, when my feet were still splayed out to the side. It was too late for me to move, so I just watched in horror as she went down with a scream.

"Ow!" We said in unison, with the class bursting out laughing. I wiggled out of her body's full weight as she stood up. "I'm so sorry!"

She let out a sputtering noise as she lost her balance and gripped my table's edge for support. The girl looked down at her red pumps and let out a gasp. "My heel! It's broken!" Her voice was so screechy that it sent everyone to hysterics once again. Even the brunette in the row ahead was snickering into her palm.

"I am so sorry!" I repeated. "I never really meant to—"

"No," she whined. "Do you know who gave this to me? I will be, like, killed!" She paused for a moment to glare at my slowly shrinking figure then she continued to ramble. "And why are you sitting on _my_ place? Are you new or something?"

"This... this is my seat." I told her, hating how my voice was so squeaky. And didn't exactly help the fact that her tacky style reminded me of this popular girl in my old school who sometimes looked either a teacher or a stewardess.

"No. It is not. So get out of my place, please."

I didn't move.

"Hello, can you hear me?"

"This is my seat. Ms. Dare assigned this seat to me."

The class was slowly shifting uncomfortably in their chairs, watching as the morning drama started to unfold.

"Actually, if you've been listening, it's mine."

_Does she really have to be worked up over this?_

"Are you a dumb blonde or someth—"

"Ms. Snapps!" Ms. Dare thundered. "I am sure that whatever happened to your heel could be fix, so please stop with your ridiculous outburst." The girl immediately shut up. "And now... I want you to apologize to your new classmate for the offensive name you have just called her."

The girl glared at me from behind her dark purple glasses before muttering something incoherent.

"Come again, Ms. Snapps. I don't think we heard you. Did you hear her, Ms. Gregory?" I slowly shook my head no. "LOUDER, Ms. Snapps!"

She cringed, her tanned skin flushing red. "I am _so_ sorry!" She blurted out in a mocking tone, hesitantly at first but as she continued, it grew louder and more confident. "So sorry for asking if you're a dumb blonde. Sorry for getting angry at you for tripping me and breaking my heel. Sorry for—"

"Ms. Snapps!" Ms. Dare paused, massaging her temples. "Your new desk is the empty one right over there. Go there now. Please." Everyone watched as the moody girl trudged over to her new place, two rows behind her original one.

"So as I was saying before I got interrupted..."

oo00oo

I stepped out of the line, holding my grey hexagonal tray uncertainly as I looked around the cafeteria.

Being the new student wasn't usually good for people. For example, you never know where your classroom is located, which might result you into walking circles around the school if you're not brave enough to ask. Then, there's the problem that I'm currently facing: where do I sit?

My first thought was Layne, but I quickly dismissed it. I still wasn't sure whether I liked her or not, and even if I did, she was nowhere to be found in the busy cafe. Then there was that girl, Claire Something from Art class along with Alicia and Layne. She was friendly enough, and kept chatting with me and Layne, despite the annoyed looks that Alicia kept shooting her.

As I walked past Table 18, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Claire waving me over but I simply ignored her and continued walking. Of course, I would've gladly walked over to Claire, if only she wasn't with people I hardly talked to and knew. Sure, I met Alicia during my Saks trip, but it happened when she insulted me and Layne. And then the closest thing I've had to talking with the brunette girl, Massie Block, was when I helped her answer Ms. Dare's unfair Math question—through note passing. Lastly, there was the redhead sitting beside Claire right now... I don't think I currently have classes with her.

I may not be an expert in predicting the future like that crazily good psychic, Hermia, but if I sat with Claire and her friends, I would be in for an awkward lunch.

With a defeated sigh, I headed for the frosted glass doors of the cafe, deciding it would be better to eat lunch with the girl near the lockers, when I suddenly bumped into a black turtleneck-clad girl.

"Oh...! I'm sorry. Did I spill anything?" I exclaimed, afraid that the events from Math class might repeat itself again. But when I raised my head to look at the girl, she was simply smiling kindly. There was no annoyance in her moss green eyes in sight.

"Hey, you're the new girl, right?" she asked. "Why don't you sit with us?"

Still too surprised to say anything else, I stammered out, "U-Us?"

"We sit there," she cocked her head to the direction of an empty Table 7. "Don't worry, we just want to make small talk." Before I could say anything else, I found myself being dragged by the girl to her table. I tried to squirm out of her grip, but that was easier said than done since I was still holding my tray and she had a bigger frame than me. Her pink Converse shoes screeched to a stop, and I noticed that a girl was already occupying a part of the table. That was when I realized it was the girl from Math. At first I thought she would be called off, but the girl beside me just chirped out a "Hey, Ginger!" then sat down beside her.

"Well, aren't you sitting down?" The girl asked as Ginger shot me an expectant look.

"Um, uh, well you see..." My throat suddenly felt too dry as I struggled for words. "I need to—"

"Look," Ginger sighed, "if this is about what happened earlier, then I'm really sorry. I just... I just freak out easily, and sometimes, I hate it more than the way others hate it. So sorry, okay? How many times do you want me to say it?"

"Give her a chance," her friend said.

I stood there for a moment, weighing out the pros and cons until finally, "Okay. Apology accepted." I plunked down my tray from across the both of them and sat down, happy to find a place to eat. Another thing to cross off my list. But if I found new best friends? Too soon to tell.

"I'm Ginger Snapps, by the way,"

"So I've heard,"

Ginger grinned, but I thought I saw something flash in those pale eyes of hers. "And you've met Deena Geyser."

"Wassup?" Deena flashed a smile and a peace sign. "We're BFFs if you haven't noticed, so I hope you won't feel too left out or anything."

Ignoring Ginger's snickers, I replied, "Oh, I've noticed." From afar, you won't be able to tell they shared enough similarities to be close enough, appearance and personality-wise. But looking at them, I could tell they were close from the way they both wore matching pink beaded bracelets to the way they tied their hair into high ponytails with red scrunchies. "And don't worry, I'm sure I won't feel left out." I added, shooting Ginger a look.

"That's good!" Deena exclaimed in a way that made her light brown hair bounce more than it should.

"Anyway, how's the first day so far?"

"Pretty good," I replied, swallowing a mouthful of bacon-sprinkled mac & cheese.

"The teachers?"

"Eh, they're okay. But Ms. Dare..."

"Everyone's favorite teacher," Deena rolled her eyes playfully. "But wait till you meet Sir Anderson! He's way worse than a bee sting!"

"Who's that?" I asked, but my question was pushed aside as they continued to talk like I wasn't even there.

"Remember the time when I made that crack about him in that lunch announcement I made?"

"Which... Oh, that one. Yeah, that was pretty funny."

"Too bad he didn't think so! His sense of humor is comparable to watching paint dry."

"You do the lunch announcements?" I asked again, desperate to stay in the conversation.

Deena paused long enough to give me a cold "I used to" before she went back to her conversation.

I let out an annoyed huff. _You only agreed to sit with them 'cause you wanted to eat already, _I reminded myself. _Not because you wanted to make friends with them! _But still, it felt bad that I was getting left out—just like what Deena warned me.

Suddenly, their loud voices turned to hushed whispers, causing me to look at them curiously. When Deena noticed me, she gave me a smile then continued to whisper, side-glancing at me from time to time.

I started to think how it was better to eat outside alone rather than eating quietly while being surrounded with people who have someone to talk to. And today was supposed to be the day I would start my escape from Planet Loser. Ugh. Minutes later though, the girls fell into silence which was fine by me since I didn't have to feel so—

"Ginger, you _klutz_!"

_WHAT THE...?_

I looked up just in time to see a bottle of Coke explode, its contents splashing everyone in Table 7 and half of Table 8.

I jumped out of my plastic chair, but it was too late—I was already drenched.

"Oh my gosh!" screeched Ginger. She took a handful of tissues and went around the table to get to me. "I am so sorry!" If I didn't know any better, she seemed like she was fighting back a smile. "Let me help you with that."

"No, it's okay." I took a step back and I would've almost slipped on a small puddle of Coke if only Ginger wasn't there grabbing ahold of my wrist. She started to say something, but it couldn't be heard over the sound of my schoolmates' laughter echoing in the cafe and the sound of my heartbeat. And before I knew it, Ginger was already wiping out the sticky brown liquid.

"Stop it, Ginger!" I demanded when I noticed that the tissues were staining my shirt. I grabbed the tissues and held them in front of me, realizing they were stained with mustard and ketchup. "Ginger, what...?"

"Oops, sorry!" She blurted out as she widened her almond-shaped eyes into innocent-like proportions. "I didn't realize that those were the tissues that Deena used to wipe her mouth!"

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that!" Deena said from behind, laughing hysterically.

I narrowed my eyes at the both of them, dropping the stained tissues to the ground. I made a show of squishing them with my oxfords as I hissed, "I should've known. You seemed like the type to get back at a person."

"What? For you breaking my heel or embarrassing me in front of our classmates when you pointed out that I had wrong answers in multiple occasions?"

"Both." I paused for a moment to inhale and exhale. "And you know what else I know? I know that you're a girl who overacts in everything!"

"What? Are you calling me a drama queen?"

"Well, you did call me a dumb blonde." I swallowed the big lump of nervousness lodged in my throat.

Ginger crossed her arms. "There's a big difference between asking and calling."

"I don't even get why you're doing all of this. Seriously," I said honestly.

She barked a laugh. "You're just the new girl, so of course you don't know a lot of things."

I frowned. It wouldn't be good for my already ruined image if I ran out of the cafe without getting the last word. I leaned in close to the girl that our noses were almost touching. "I may be the new girl, but back at Karter, I was respected there." So maybe I was respected because I knew how to mentally multiply two-digit numbers with two-digit numbers, but still. That didn't mean I couldn't be a scary female dog when I wanted to. "So you better learn some respect."

Ginger frowned back. "That was in your old school, Kristen. You're in OCD now, so you better earn a place in the social ladder before people start respecting you."

"Why? Do you earn a place in the social ladder with attitude problems?" I announced loudly, pulling back. "And I'm sure that clothes from an airline company aren't in. I hope that's not what your dictionary definition of classy is!" I added, looking back at the two girls, whose mouths were open but eyes were blazing.

And with that, I walked out of the cafe with my head held high, and not only because I was acting like some confident girl who got the last word but also because I was hoping that it would help send back the tears to wherever they came from when I didn't need them.

_This was _definitely _not_ _how I pictured my first day._

* * *

You know what's annoying? When I'm done almost with the chapter then the internet goes bye-bye. Well, at least I'm done now. And if you guys are confused about the part wherein Ginger was saying how Kristen pointed out her mistakes in Math class, it would be further elaborated in the next chapter.

Drop me a review, I hope? :)


	6. Kemp Hurley

6th chapter- enjoy!

Thanks to **hawtjuicyaddict, XDReadingPersonXD, flying in visceral aplombs, and xoxo Starry-eyed **for reviewing. Stay loving and keep on reading! For my **Guest **reviewer, I do hope that it happened to you by accident. If not, well, whoever did that to you is mean... (Unless you did that all by yourself.)

Tnx for the Favorites and Alerts! :3

Sadly, I do now own The Clique but I do own my OCs. :):

* * *

Kemp Hurley

By the end of the school day, my fingers were killing me from taking notes in class, my cheeks hurt from the fake smiles I'd been showing off, and my head ached from having to mentally stow away names as to who was approachable and not.

I stopped in front of locker 298 and heaved a sigh, staring blankly at the grey slab of metal before quickly dialling my locker combination. The lock came of easily and I cautiously opened the door of my locker. See, before the first period started I was thinking of already decorating my locker so that it can have the vibe that it's... well, really mine. Unfortunately I had to change my plans if I didn't want to be marked late. (Who would've thought that it'd take me forever to find someone who was willing to help me? Octavian Country Day, as I was learning, was not exactly Friendly town.)

Long story short, I had to literally shove in everything I brought and bolt to class. Hence my decision for a cautious and slow approach so that nothing will fall out.

"Wah!" I yelped as a spiral notebook fell out, shortly followed by some books.

I extended my arms to break the fall of my things but I only managed to catch the notebook, and I cringed as the others fell with a _thud_. I crouched down and hurriedly picked up the books and hugged them to my chest. I discreetly looked around, and to my relief, saw that students were thinning out. Only a few seemed to have seen my embarrassing blunder.

Glancing at my watch, I realized that I still had a good fifteen minutes before the bus left me. I could use the time to work some magic on my locker. And with that in mind, I went to work.

I fixed my things like it was nobody's business; arranging books and notebooks by height on the top shelf, deciding that my other stuff should be placed on the lower shelf.

Minutes later, everything was perfectly organized. I had worked way faster on my locker compared to the time I had to clean up Beckham's litter box when he had that bladder infection. I shuddered slightly at the thought of having to clean the hell-sent litter box again. But I was seriously happy I can finally concentrate on finding the books needed for homework.

Unzipping my bag, I searched through my belongings before I found a thin, green notebook. I flipped through the pages of my home works notebook, checking which books I needed to bring home. "Mm, okay... So English and Math and—" I abruptly stopped and sighed in relief upon seeing that I only had to focus on two subjects. Which was good, I guess, because I needed to mull over on matters that were currently more important than coefficients and proper grammar. Shutting out my thoughts—or rather, the embarrassing confrontation with Ginger in Math and the second one with her and Deena that were starting to play in mind—with a shake of my head, I quickly traced the spines of the textbooks and tried to locate the two I needed. I swiped the Math book first then the English, finally spotting them. I found myself staring at the thick English textbook, wondering why anyone would make an English book thicker than a Math book as I dropped the two in my bag. Looks like it's going to be English's turn to bore me to death.

_Death. _As soon as the word popped up, a million thoughts ran through her head in the speed of lightning. _Ginger will send me death threats if I get tangled in the web of drama and hate that is her life. She'll give me her death glares if I say anything stupid... whatever stupid may be in her dictionary. Ugh. Stupid, she's stupid! Why would anyone want her up in the social ladder of OCD with that attitude problem of hers? OCD is an exclusive school, it'll be a problem if people find out that I have a scholarship. Especially Ginger. I can't trust her... since when did I ever trust her? I'll have to keep this scholarship business under wraps, then. Keep the cat in my only designer bag. This day sucks because of Ginger and Deena. Those fakes. Faux. But I can't let anyone know that I'm fake too in terms of richness... Wait, Kristen! What are you doing, stressing yourself out like this? Stressing yourself like you've been spilled with Coke again... Stupid, idiotic Ginger and... Stop! Don't think about it. Think about it. NO! Stop._

And before I knew it, I was banging my head listlessly against the top shelf of my locker as an effort to drive away the crazy anxiety that had managed to seep its way into my brain. (Which was no easy feat since the locker was tall enough to store a dead body or act as a hideout from an angry mob of cheerleaders.) On good days, I would usually make mental multiple choice questions as a way to get answers when I had no one to confide or when I simply wanted to calm myself. But this was no good day, all of it stemming from third period Math.

Ms. Dare decided to assign me a seat that was taken by a vengeful feeler, who automatically thought that claiming I'm a dumb blonde—me, out of all people!—would be a good argument. And it just doesn't end there. Oh no, before the lunch time drama rolled around, I still had to experience what most people would probably label as a "Math problem." A Math problem which, of course, included Ginger (and Massie Block, at some point). After Ginger cooled down, we proceeded to answer the exercises that the teacher had prepared for us. Although I can't say the same for my classmates, the exercises were hardly what you would call a "problem" for me. The problem was what happened afterwards. Ms. Dare had encouraged us to answer some questions from the exercises, and me being me, kept volunteering.

Somewhere in the middle of my explanation of distributing the negative sign to the numbers in the parenthesis, I got interrupted by my teacher, saying how much she'd love to hear the continuation of my explanation from Massie Block. Massie just stood there for a moment, an angry fire in her eyes while her fingers tapped at something hidden under her desk.

"Ms. Block?" I remember the teacher saying. "We'd all be happy to hear you explain." For an odd reason, Ms. Dare actually had looked happy that Massie didn't know the answer to her question. More or less, it was probably an _Aha! I knew you weren't as angelic as they claimed to be _moment for her.

She probably wasn't. Because a millisecond later, I had realized that Massie was tapping an invitation for _me _to cheat for _her_. She had discreetly flashed me the screen of her iPhone, commanding me to give her the answer. It struck me as an unlikely move for her, but I did it—I tore a piece of my notebook paper and scribbled the answer as quickly and quietly as possible. Only God knows why I hid my hand under my desk and angled the paper towards her. I really had no idea why I did it but something told me there'd be hell to pay if I didn't obey her. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't shaking, even though I was convinced that nobody saw. But out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ginger glaring extra sharp daggers at me and Massie.

For what it's worth, Ginger had been doing a great job answering the questions I wasn't able to answer. But her anger towards me and Massie was probably what messed up her brain when Ms. Dare called on her. She kept stumbling at the answers, and she was more focused on glaring rather than answering. And I was there to correct every mistake that left her mouth. Which, no doubt, made her hate me more.

Her hate waves bothered me, but what seriously made me uncomfortable was the fact that she still hasn't tattled on me. She seemed like the type.

I suddenly felt like crying. Oh, what have I gotten myself into? First day and I've already made enemies with someone. First day and I was already an accomplice in cheating. What made me think that today would be the best day ever?

The sound of a locker creaking open momentarily paused my mini pity/hate party. I forced my head to tilt sideways and found myself staring at the open locker door just one locker away from me. White blonde hair peeked from behind, and it took me quite a while before I recognized the soft yet determined voice that was all but cursing. It was Claire Tiger or Something. No, it's... Liger? Lion? Oh, Lyons. Claire Lyons.

"Hey... Claire?"

The said girl jerked back and gave me a surprised look. "Oh! Kristen... hi." She awkwardly waved. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was you. Locker, ah, 298 should be occupied by this girl named Olivia since she got Locker 198 last year. Usually new students get placed in the year below them—unless you're a sixth grader, which means your locker will be located in the eighth grade, and that's what happened to me—"

"Then how come I got Olivia's locker?"

"Mm, maybe because she's not here. We didn't see her since that start of the school year. I think she's sick or something, but Massie always insists that she probably forgot where school was, given her ditzy attitude." I scoffed at that, making Claire stop rambling. "That was pretty mean, huh?" I shook my head, wondering if I should tell her about the girl I met earlier. She sure did fit the description of Olivia. "Um, uh, is everything okay?" Claire suddenly asked. Only then did I realize that the tears that had gathered during my mini pity/hate party were still present.

I backed away from the locker and wiped my eyes. "Everything's fine," I managed. "I'm tearing up a little 'cause I bumped my head, in case you're wondering." _Real nice, Kristen. Real nice._

"Oh, okay. That's good... I guess." She coughed, her eyes searching my face. "Speaking of good, you got yourself a nice change of clothes!"

I looked down at my outfit and smiled a little. "Nurse Adele has some nice deals," I joked. It was the truth. Thanks to people who couldn't care less for their old designer clothes, I was given access to a pink and blue Ralph Lauren shirt and a decent pair of dirty white capris. My stained clothes were discarded into the depths of my bulging bag.

Claire pursed her lips, the laughter fading away too soon. "You should've sat with us, you know. Maybe Massie and Alicia would've minded, but I'm sure they'd like you if you hang out for a while. You could've avoided that... _mess_."

I winced. "Yeah, that wasn't one of my smartest moves. I'm... I'm sure plenty saw me drenched in Coke." I never wanted to say it out loud, because talking about it was like admitting it did happen. But still, like a nerve-wrecking moment before an Idol got eliminated, I couldn't look away. I had to hear exactly how bad it looked through other's eyes.

"Kristen, I think everyone saw it." Claire slowly informed me, a pitiful look crossing her face. "But everyone also saw you dissing Ginger and Deena."

Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

"And trust me when I say that was the best thing I've watched in the cafeteria ever since the food fight that Meena started," she continued with a smile gracing her pale face.

I felt myself starting to smile too. That was by far the nicest thing anyone from OCD had told me. Even better: it came from an actual civil conversation! But then it dawned to me that I'd have to break away from the conversation if I still wanted to ride the bus.

"Omigosh, Claire!" I blurted out. "I'm so sorry, but I have to go. I really don't want to walk lugging around this bag." I slammed my locker door shut before spinning on my heel to make a run for it.

"It's okay!" I heard Claire call out as I dashed out. "I know how you feel..." Her voice sounded distant as I burst through the double doors. I nimbly made my way down the stone steps, jumping from the third step and landing at the base. I accidentally knocked down a bystander, shouting a quick apology as she rubbed her behind. I felt like an FBI agent tracking down someone as I shamelessly pushed people away and ducked at handbags. But the experienced was instantly ruined as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk.

Because of the rush I was in (or maybe the hair the was being blown to my face) I didn't notice that a guy was heading straight for me. Before I could make sense of alarmed cries ringing in my ears, I heard a scraping sound followed by a _whoosh _as something brushed against my cheek. Totally surprised and confused, I looked down and saw a boy about my age sprawled at my feet. He wore the usual casual attire of the boys, but somehow he made it seem... hotter. He shook his bronze hair out of his almond-shaped leaf green eyes as he struggled to get up.

"A little help here?" He groaned out.

I snapped back to attention and reached out my hand. "So sorry," I apologized profusely. _How many times have I said that word this day?_ His tanned hand grasped mine tightly and I pulled him up. "I didn't realize that you were there and—"

"No worries," the boy assured me. He let go of my hand and brought it to his toned arm, massaging it. He turned to look at the skateboard that had rolled near the base of a big oak tree before facing me. "It's actually my—Wow," he breathed.

I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks. What the heck did that mean? What made him look so awed? Did a huge pimple pop out all of the sudden? "Y-Yes...?"

The nameless boy shook his head again before plastering a heart melting smile. "Sorry, you were just so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line."

My first reaction was to scream "What?" but I decided against it. I was sure he would think twice before calling me "beautiful" if he ever saw my super shocked face. And so, even if my cheeks were redder than ever and my heart was thumping in my ears, I placed my hands on my hips and tried to look straight in his pretty-colored eyes. "Is it also part of the plan to forget how to use a skateboard so that you can call the poor, scared girl 'beautiful'?" It wasn't the best, but it was all I could do under the circumstances.

"Should I remind you that it was you blocked my way?" He shot back. "And besides, I didn't have to forget how to use the skateboard. I hardly know how to control the damn thing. I made a stupid bet with my friends that if I skate in one direction without hitting anybody, they'd give me some bucks. I obviously lost but I don't mind."

Was it just me or was it getting hotter?

"I-I-Is that so?" I stammered. I may be smooth when it comes to insults, but I'm the opposite of it when it comes to boys. It doesn't help that I was ambushed by one either. I swallowed the big lump of nervousness and tried to think straight. "It's nice that you don't mind losing or else I might go home guilty."

Thankfully, he laughed. "Kemp Hurley."

"Kristen Gregory," I replied, sticking out my hand. He held it and shook it firmly. "And this Kristen better go now or else she'll have to walk."

"'Kay. Sorry about earlier. Hopefully I'll be able to master that thing without hurting innocent bystanders." Kemp said, pointing at the skateboard.

"You'll do fine," I promised. "See you!" And with that, I continued to make my way towards the parking area of the school buses. The lot was basically empty, except for a bus sitting under the shade of a tree. "Wait!" I screamed once I heard the engine roaring to life. The sight of the bus backing up made me wave my hand hysterically. "I'm still here! I said wait!" The bus suddenly lurched to a stop, and I felt relieved when I the doors hissed open. Shaking the hair out of my face, I climbed in and was greeted by the chuckling driver and a pack of annoyed students.

The driver gave me an amused once-over. "Had a hectic day?" She guessed.

"You have no idea."

oo00oo

I lay still on my bed, the comforter keeping out the unwanted cold that my air condition provided. In his own little bed, Beckham let out a series of purrs. The rhythmic breathing and snorts of the cat usually served as my lullaby, but all they did to me now was have the urge to scream in frustration. The day replayed in my head, and the bad moments were in rewind like a broken DVD.

All night long I've been tossing and turning trying to tune out Beckham and the memories of the day, but I could only do so little. The only way for this to end was to think of a multiple question list. Unfortunately, there was only one question that came in mind. A question that I was afraid to answer.

What exactly was the impression that my schoolmates got from me?

A. The loser new girl

B. The wannabe new girl

C. The perfect new girl

**D.** The know-it all, trying-hard wannabe new girl

I felt my hands clench into fists. No one was there to confirm it, but I was sure that it was the last option. Or maybe it was any of the options but C. Well, whatever the impression I gave off to the students, I was determined to change it. I may have come off as a loser or a wannabe today, but for the days to come, I was determined to be the perfect new girl. You know what they say, tomorrow is another day.

* * *

I stayed up super-duper late for this, so sorry if it started becoming bad in some parts. I just wanted to finish the chapter already. By the way, sorry if my description of Kemp is wrong. I tried to look for it in the Internet, but the closest thing I've got to his appearance is that he's hot. If any of you know how Kemp really looks like, feel free to tell me.

Any comments, suggestions, or violent reactions? If so, you know what to do.


	7. Kiss up

7th chapter- enjoy!

I'm a fashionably late updater, aren't I? No? Okay.

Thanks to **splendeur, dancing when the rain falls, xoxo Starry-eyed, gravity5, AleAmaroBTR, and hawtjuicyaddict **for reviewing. Stay loving and keep on reading!

Tnx for the Favorites and Alerts! :3

Sadly, I do not own The Clique but I do own my OCs. :):

* * *

Kiss up

Picture this, if you will.

I am in Math class and my teacher—who is wearing a mustard-yellow plaid pantsuit that only she can "pull off"—recently discussed the second trimester project. Everyone's groaning because what's not to hate about a teacher who gives out projects earlier than the rest? But then here comes the worse part: being assigned to a partner. She's not letting us team up with a friend like everyone's hoping, instead she calls up random people to form the "Project Pair," as she puts it. Some get lucky and get partnered up with the geniuses, artists, or even their friends. Others get the end of the short stick. They're forced to pair up with the procrastinators, mathtards, and the popular.

In case you're wondering, I got the popular student.

Now there are different types of popular students. There's the nice one, the spoiled one, the smart one, the musical one, the athletic one... you get the idea. It actually all depends on what type of "popular" your partner is. When I get paired up with the types mentioned above, I like to think that he or she will either A) bring us close, therefore making _me_ popular; or B) annoy me or vice-versa.

I was currently experiencing option B.

"Massie," I groaned. "The period's almost up, and we still don't have a final idea for the project."

The said girl looked up from her nails, a bored expression crossing her perfectly made-up face. "I thought you already had some suggestions written there." She nodded at the graphing notebook in my hand.

"_You_ vetoed them, re-mem-ber?" I replied, almost spitting out my words. Despite the slightly venomous tone my voice possessed, my face remained expressionless albeit the conflict of emotions I was feeling.

Was this how she thanked me for helping her weasel out of Ms. Dare's wrath? If so, then she shouldn't expect a "You're welcome" anytime soon.

"I didn't agree because your ideas are un-oh-ri-gi-nal," Massie shot back, mimicking my tone. "Creating something that shows what we learned for this term is such a bore, and I don't want to present it in an equally boring fashion. We need something that will set us apart."

Even though I knew she was right, I was fuming. Half of our classmates would probably be doing a Math calendar, but I was getting desperate here. The teacher wanted our project ideas by Monday, and we—or rather,_ I_—haven't even thought of something that will "set us apart."

I patted my hair irritably, trying to restrain the urge of re-braiding it. If ever Ms. Dare caught us fixing our hair dos, she'd give us a thirty-second speech before sending us to the washroom even if all we wanted to do was clip our bangs. As Massie continued to ramble about being unique, I let my eyes wander. It seemed that most of our classmates were still finalizing their ideas, while some were already finished with it.

My gaze landed on a certain pair, who was casually chatting. I watched in annoyance and jealousy as Ginger snickered at something her partner said. And at that moment, Ginger turned her head, her eyes meeting mine. Her gaze flickered to Massie before mouthing "Told you so."

I quickly looked the other way, my fists clenching. When Ms. Dare had announced my partner was Massie, Ginger whispered me a "Good luck" before meeting up with her partner. Apparently, she was right; I needed the luck.

"...and since you're not even listening to a word I'm saying, I guess I'll just stawp talking." Massie finished.

"Huh? I mean, I get you," I replied distractedly. "But listen, Massie, it's not like I'm the only one working for this project. It'll be good if you pitch in too." I eyed the conflict of emotions that were evident in her face, prompting me to quickly add, "Not like you've given enough help with your..._ speech_ on uniqueness. A really good motivation!"

Massie scowled. "Drop the act. You're acting faker than the Louis Vuittons they sell at the corner of 44th Street." Ignoring my speechless form, she continued her tirade. "I know I'm not the next Archimedes when it comes to this subject, which was why I was hoping that my partner would be some kind of expert on _Algeboob_. I did get what I was hoping for, but I guess you're not much helpful. Thinking about it, it's kind of sad because I thought you'd be running as the next Ms. Kiss up... or Butt-kiss. Whichever."

The nerve of her! She actually admitted her weakness at Math, but managed to offend me at the same time. "I am not a kiss up. I don't praise the teachers to get on their good side." I replied, maybe a bit defensively. So I do that sometimes, but why acknowledge it to people like her?

"Are you a tooth with dental problems?"

"No... Why...?"

"Then don't be so sensitive,"

I gasped in disbelief. Can somebody give me the five-letter word for female dog? "Okay, this is getting us to nowhere," I announced in the most civilized tone I could (barely) muster. Back in Karter, I was infamous for my scathing remarks, though I was sure it wouldn't benefit me to use them in my new school—especially when I was facing someone like Massie Block. "One way or another, I think we're both at fault here but I won't be apologizing to you, you won't be apologizing to me. We just _reeeaallly _need to focus on—"

"Time to wrap this up, ladies. We only have five more minutes left."

I stifled a groan before shooting Massie a hopeful look. "Is it alright if we continue this in either of our places—I mean, if I can come over to your house this weekend?" My heart was pounding loudly. Did she notice how I had corrected myself? Did she find it suspicious? Weird? Or maybe the better question would be: will Massie agree to my plan?

"Opposite of yes. I'm going to the mall with the PC tomorrow to find the perfect outfit for this fundraising event my mom's hosting this Sunday,"

_The PC? Oh, right. Her clique. _"How about today, after school?" I was desperate now. If she said no, then that means I'll be working alone. And when Mom finds out that my partner was too busy with her social life to help me out... I cringed at thought of it. School work plus unhelpful partner plus Marsha Gregory finding out equals chaos or social suicide. Possibly even both.

"I'm hosting the weekly Friday night sleepover,"

"You gotta help me out here! There's a reason why she made us work in pairs... Sleepovers normally begin at what, seven or eight? How about before it starts? I don't know about you, but I care about my grades. And from the way you're acting, you're giving me the impression that you don't. So prove me wrong and agree to this." I shut my eyes, forcing myself to breathe calmly. I've had bad experiences when it came to partners who took advantage of me during projects, and I was going to make sure that it wouldn't be happening in OCD. Not now, not ever.

For a millisecond, almost as if I just imagined it, Massie avoided my firm gaze. Then she turned her amber eyes on me with such seriousness that it made _me _want to look away. "Meet me and the PC at the front of the school. If you can't find us, go look for a Range Rover. If you're late, we'll both have it from Dare when Monday comes."

oo00oo

I screeched to a stop, searching for any signs of the Pretty Committee or the Blocks' Range Rover. _Please let it be there, please let it be there... Bingo! _I grinned in relief, quickly approached the awaiting classic, black car parked under the shade of a leaky oak. Now halfway near, it only occurred to me that the vehicle could be owned by somebody else. As I was coming up ways to find out whether or not the car was Massie's, the window of the driver side rolled down, a balding head poking out.

"Ms. Gregory?" The old, albeit strong-looking, driver asked.

"Just Kristen," I smiled shyly. I never really liked to be called "Miss" simply because it reminded me of Mom. As for the teachers calling me that, it's a different story.

The driver returned the gesture with a smile of his own, the crinkles around his eyes becoming more evident. "Go in," he urged, "they won't bite."

Not really knowing how to respond, I nodded and rushed over to the side of the car. Who knows, maybe they would be nicer now that we weren't in public. Either that or he didn't just want to be overheard insulting them. I opened the door in one hurried motion, revealing the Pretty Committee. "Hi," I squeaked, cringing at how screechy my voice sounded. I went in and sat in-between of Claire and the oh-so-famous Dylan Marvil, shutting the door. Almost immediately, the driver started the engine and drove.

Claire warmly smiled at me in greeting as Dylan burped out a "Heeyyy!" the same time Alicia said, _"Hola." _

Massie nodded in my direction. "Honestly, were just about to tell Isaac to leave you,"

My face, red from running, flushed even more—if that was still possible. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I had to tell my mom about our plans."

"Oh, I know how you feel," Claire piped in, obviously trying to make me feel comfortable. "Moms. They're always hovering. Like helicopters!"

I chuckled at her comparison. It was clear to me she was the nicest out of the group. When Layne introduced me to the School's Social System, or SSS, it wasn't a wonder to know that Massie, Alicia, and Dylan were at the peak of the pyramid. But I _was _slightly surprised when she also added that her best friend shared the same spot with those three girls. No offense to her, but I always thought she was just some kind of lost puppy trailing behind the PC; adorable yet simultaneously dorky... _adorkable_.

"Anyway, Mass, what _are_ your plans?" Alicia asked, turning to her friend, waxed eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Math project," Massie sighed, like it was one of the worst ways to spend your middle school life. And in a way it was.

Alicia pursed her lips. "Oh. That is so D2M. Why can't the Math teachers just give us the project a month or two before the exams, like every other normal teacher?"

Even if I was clueless on the meaning of D2M, I found myself nodding in agreement. On the plus side, at least we wouldn't cram it with the other subject projects.

"I've no problem in that department!" Dylan beamed. Everyone stared at her. "What? I got Allie-Rose so it's all good." The girls groaned and I sat there awkwardly. Who was Allie-Rose? Was she the girl with the syrupy-red hair or the super tall one? In response, Dylan stuck her tongue out and held out her bag of pretzels. "Want one? It might help you calm down."

"I don't stress eat," Alicia announced, casually twirling a lock of black hair around her slender fingers. Massie shook her head no.

"Suit yourself."

I watched in amusement as Dylan dug into her pretzels, not even stopping when some cheese-dusted crumbs landed on her black leggings. She then handed the bag to Claire, who gladly accepted.

So here I was with the infamous Pretty Committee. I admit I'm still nervous but not as much as before. It was funny how they acted in the car and in school. Sure, there wasn't much difference but you could tell they were much more relaxed compared to when students were flocking around them. _I wonder how they'd really act if they're totally alone, _I mused, sneaking a peek at Massie and Alicia as they whispered to each other.

Oh well. Guess I'll never know. I'm not part of them after all.

oo00oo

I was_ this close_ to crying when I entered the Blocks' mansion. Wait. Let me rephrase that. I could already hear myself _sniffling_ when I entered the Blocks' mansion. It was when I saw the Riveras' Spanish-style manor and the Marvils' modern estate I was super close to crying.

With its polished floorboards and odor-free carpeting, the sturdy furniture that occupied the living room, the shiny granite tabletops in the breakfast nook, the gold-framed family photos hung on the guaranteed no-chip painted walls... everything was just so pristine and expensive! Everything that my Pinewoods apartment wasn't. I admit the apartment was cozier than Massie's house, but still. There were no cockroaches in sight—not even the dead ones. That had to count for something! I know I'm exaggerating but can you really blame me? It's been years since I've hung out in a house like this. And honestly, I miss the rich life.

"...was nice meeting you, Kristen!"

I snapped back to attention and smiled at Massie's mom. "You too, Mrs—I mean, Kendra."

The fortysomething woman—or thirtysomething, if you choose to believe Botox—nodded in approval and waved at us as we climbed up the stairs. A few short minutes later, we reached Massie's bedroom. She reached for the doorknob and opened the door with a flourish. I stepped in, trying hard not to look impressed.

"Nice room," I managed to say coolly.

"Thanks," Massie replied, dropping her Kate Spade hobo bag on her purple duvet. "White just screams classic and purple is the color of royalty, you know? It's a good combo." She stared at me, and I took the hint to nod my head appreciatively. What she said _actually _made sense... "Bean, where are you?" She suddenly called out. I drew my eyebrows together, looking for the said Bean. Almost immediately, a bark emitted from under the bed, followed by a tiny black pug. Massie grinned as she scooped up her puppy. "Bean, Kristen. Kristen, Bean."

"…What's up?"

_"Arf!"_

_How cute,_ I mentally cooed. I wondered for split second if Beckham could be buddies with Bean. It would probably be like mixing water and oil.

With a satisfied expression, she released Bean from her grip, and we watched as the dog scampered back to her hiding place. "I'll just freshen up. Go ahead and plan. Feel at home,"

Coming from her the words sounded so stiff and forced, that it made me conclude she wasn't used to this kind of thing. Still I found myself plopping down on her sheepskin rug, trying to get comfortable. Of course, in a house like this, that would be a very easy thing to do. And so I pulled my legs to my chest as I tried to wrap my brain around things.

I just survived a car ride with Pretty Committee—the _freaking Pretty Committee_, mind you—and currently in Massie's room. And just so you know, my room could fit in hers and still have some extra space left. Although if it was up to me, I'd probably move out that naked mannequin standing beside her walk-in closet door like it was some kind of guard. With that thing standing there, it was creepy. What was the purpose of that—

_Oooh, focus, Kristen! Focus._

I took one last look at that mannequin before searching my bag for my Math notebook. Several minutes later I was tapping my mechanical pencil on a blank page yet there was still no sign of Massie. _Whatever. Just come up with ideas. That's what Her Highness wants anyway. _But that was the problem. I couldn't think of anything. My brain felt like some kind of shriveled up fruit, the way it often was after school. The only way to fix that was to get some sleep. I tried to while in the car but I couldn't even close my eyes, thanks to my paranoia of being made fun of the PC.

I flicked the page I was on, groaning in frustration. From under the bed, Bean let out a whimper. Ignoring her, I glanced at my watch. 4:00 PM. It's been almost twenty minutes and no progress. How long does it take for Massie to freshen up? Was it her plan to stay in her bathroom then only come out when it was time to go home? Just... _ugh_.

_No use in complaining_, I told myself. Quickly shaking the negative thoughts out of my head, I eyed the room for some inspiration. My eyes landed on the mannequin and contemplated the possibility of using that as the basis for our project. Perhaps Massie kept that thing for sewing projects... What if we create an outfit and then find out the measurements through, I don't know, algebraic expressions or something? Oh my gosh, yes! That was it. I excitedly scribbled down the thought on my notebook. _What kind of outfit? What fabrics should we use? When and where and how should we start? _

The sound of a door opening pulled me out of my giddy planning session. Massie stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a yellow bathrobe and purple flip flops. Her hair was covered with a white towel. She regarded me for a second before snapping her fingers. Bean went over to Massie and the said girl led her puppy to her walk-in closet.

"Be out in a few," Massie's muffled voice called out.

"'Kay!"

At least I already had one idea down. And true to her word, Massie came out in a few minutes, now dressed in a black Juicy Couture tracksuit. She was carrying Bean with one arm, the other was holding a glam set of clothes. She put both Bean and the outfit down on her bed then sat beside me.

"Any ideas?" She asked at the same time a loud knock was heard. "...Come in!" Their housekeeper entered, bringing in a cart of food. Claire was trailing behind, a duffel in her hand. "Thanks, Inez. Just put those on the table over there. Then once you're done, do you think you could dress up the Massie-quinn with the clothes on my bed? Thanks." Inez nodded her head dutifully before returning to her work. "The theme for the sleepover is Photo Shoot." She informed us.

"You have a theme for every sleepover?" Isn't that kind of a hassle?

"No," she corrected. "It's fun to mix things up every now and then."

"So how are the ideas for the project?" Claire interjected, claiming the space beside Massie.

"Oh,_ I_ thought of one," I beamed, oddly proud. I handed the notebook to them and they curiously read my notes. "What do you think?" I added, the question mostly directed to Massie.

"Just up my alley," she smirked.

"Nice! I never would've thought of that," Claire complimented.

"Of course you wouldn't have."

The blonde sucked in her cheeks, and I could already feel the tension forming. "What's yours, Claire?"

She blinked before responding, "Mr. Henderson assigned me to Andie Vega," she shared. "She's a really good writer so we decided to come up with a story."

"Wow, isn't that kind of hard?"

"It is. But it should prove to be fun,"

Massie yawned, nod-thanking Inez as she slipped out of the room. "What time is it?"

"Almost five,"

"Not to sound rude, but shouldn't you go home now?"

Massie sounded rude. Period. "Maybe. I don't have a ride home, though." Now that I was done planning, she wanted me out. Just like that.

"Isaac could take you." Massie offered. "Where do you live?"

Uh-oh. What would she do if she found out I lived in the Pinewoods? She probably wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. _What to say, what to say... _But wait. Why would I have to make up some kind of lie? Wasn't Claire from a middle-class family too _and_ living in Massie's guesthouse? I mean, everyone knew she wasn't filthy rich. Then again, nobody knew I wasn't filthy rich.

And before I knew it, my mouth was already deciding for me. "The Montador Buildings." I said, wincing slightly. The said building was a luxury apartment just beside my very own, so it wasn't like the lie was super big. And it was just the place. It's not like I would be inviting anyone in my apartment anytime soon.

"Ugh," Massie wrinkled her nose. "How can you stand living right next to the Pinewoods?"

"Mm, I pretend that the place is not there... even if it's hard to..."

The brunette shook her head in pity while Claire looked on confusedly. "Alright, let's get you home. See you on Monday."

I nodded, picking up my bag. "So that's it? We're sticking with the whole clothes thing?"

"Yes. Leave it to me to do the designing part." She paused, then, "If you have any ideas, tell me. If you want. But if it's not helpful at all, then just don't."

"Will do. Uh, have fun with your sleepover. And thanks for letting me stay, Massie."

"Thanks for being smart," she replied, already looking eager to avoid me. "Bye!"

"Bye!" Claire echoed.

"Yeah. Bye." I waved at the two then bent down to pet Bean's head. "See you..." With one final nod, I walked out of the room. Once the door shut behind me, I slid down to floor, nearly crying with relief.

It's been a week since I arrived in OCD, and so far there's been no progress. In what aspect? A lot. For some reason, though, I had the feeling things were going to be better from now on.

_Finally._

* * *

I feel so upset with myself. I said that I would update last Saturday, but I didn't find the time to. Some relatives came over for my birthday and left late. The following day, Internet was all weird. No connection at all. I had fun writing this chapter, though. So much fun, in fact, that I may have gone a tad bit overboard with Massie's snarky personality in the first part. Then again, I doubt Kristen and Massie would get along that easily.

And if you guys are interested, go check out my PJO community and follow it. If you want to be a staff, PM me or leave a review.

Any comments, suggestions, or violent reactions? If so, you know what to do. (And if you do review, I'll send you a virtual slice of my birthday cake!)


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